


Forever Frozen Still

by jestbee



Series: Fic Every Day in June 2018 [7]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meeting, Getting Together, M/M, Photography, Prompt Fic, Strangers to Lovers, Twitter Prompt, Wedding Planner!Dan, photographer!phil, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-05-23 19:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/pseuds/jestbee
Summary: Phil is a wedding photographer, capturing the beauty of people's weddings day after day even if it's beginning to wear a little thin. Then he meets Dan, a cynical and irritating wedding planner who doesn't believe in love and finally, he finds something that inspires him.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this tweet](https://twitter.com/kuensukki/status/1005480866506608645) from @kuensukki on twitter and they were nice enough to let me write it up. 
> 
> Hopefully this does it justice.

**The Berkeley-Fisher Wedding - June.**

Phil lines up the frame, making sure he's got all three tiers in shot. There's a slant of light coming in through the marquee and it captures the details of the figures on the top tier perfectly. A white dress and a white suit, comically animated, handmade by one of the brides' mothers, Phil doesn't remember which.  
It's a good shot, but it's one he's made time and time again. A cake, some contrast lighting, a blurred background. He turns on his foot, hunts out the happy couple, arms around each other on the dancefloor. One of them- Kaley, he thinks- has her head tipped back, a wide natural smile on her face. Phil lifts his camera and captures that too. 

Phil takes a few steps to his right, trying to get a vantage point at which to see the other bride's face as well. He doesn't put down the camera, simply pans it sideways with his steps, but he doesn't get a chance to capture the image as he suddenly collides with something warm and solid. 

"Oh my--" Phil drops the camera until it falls heavily on the strap around his neck. "Sorry." 

His bag almost slips off his shoulder, his shoe slides on the grass beneath his feet and he looks up to see who it is he's fallen on. 

"Oops, hang on. Yes I'm just--" 

Phil rights his feet so that he is no longer in danger of falling and finds himself looking at someone beautiful. The man before him is wearing a slick black suit, trousers purposefully too short to show the flash of a slender ankle. He has a wild mess of brown curls and the glint of an earring in one ear. Above it, where he is tapping an impatient finger, is a bluetooth headset. 

"You alright?" 

"Uh--" Phil says, going slightly pink. "Are you talking to me or to the…" 

The guy drops his hand from his ear. "To you," he says. "They're on hold." 

"I'm fine," he says, "Sorry for… I'm Phil." 

This man is clearly busy, or at least, he looks like he is, but Phil wants to introduce himself anyway. 

"The photographer," the man says. "I know. Kaley and Hannah said they'd hired you. Turned down all of my recommendations." 

"Um." 

"I'm Dan," he clarifies, "wedding planner." 

"Oh! Right. Yeah, I… Kaley has a friend and I did their wedding so they passed my name along." 

"Do you have a business card, Phil?" 

Phil fumbles with his bag. His hands don't seem to be working properly, which probably has everything to do with how terrible he is at social interaction and nothing at all to do with the way that Dan's brown eyes are trained on him, glinting in that same beam of dying light coming in through the side of the tent. It lights his skin up golden and soft and Phil is trying not to notice. 

He finally manages to pull a business card from the side pocket of his bag and hands it to Dan. It's bent in the middle. 

"Green," Dan chuckles. 

"Um, yeah. White cards are so boring." 

"You're probably right," Dan says. He looks at the card pinched between two blunt fingers, his fingernails two perfect ovals shimmering a little with fine glitter. "Phil Lester. Well, thank you Phil, I'll keep you in mind for the future." 

"T-Thanks," Phil says. 

"If you'll excuse me," Dan says, lifting his hand back to his ear, "I've got a driver on hold, a DJ that's just started playing a song on the Don't Play list and we're scheduled to cut the cake in five minutes." 

"No worries," Phil says with a wave of his hand. "Have a good evening." 

"You too." 

Dan taps the earpiece nestles in his ear. "Sorry about that, so as I was saying…" 

He moves off through the crowd, tall and broad shouldered. He looks like he should stick out but he glides fluidly through everyone like he's used to this. He's graceful, and golden, and Phil can't resist. 

He gets the shot as Dan moves to the other side of the dance floor. He's got his head tipped up towards the DJ just out of shot and there are flecks of pink and purple disco light's smoothed out in to blurred circles behind him. The long line of his neck extends above the collar of his crisp white shirt and the curve of his jaw is made strong by the shadow through in the lights. He's beautiful. 

Later, when the brides have left for their hotel and all that is left is a lone dancer with a loosened tie and bare feet, Phil takes another photo of Dan. He's directing the caterers coming to clear up, his arm outstretched, fingers pointing. He's mid sentence, his lips parted and tongue just peeking out between them. There's no fancy lighting, it isn't an artistic shot, but Phil takes it anyway and pretends it's just about capturing the end of the day. 

"You off?" Dan calls to him as he lowers his camera. 

Phil flushes at the idea that Dan might have caught him sneaking a picture. But if Dan thinks anything of it he doesn't let on. 

"Yes," Phil says, "just finishing up."

"Well thank you," Dan says. "Pictures directly to Kaley and Hannah right?" 

Phil nods. 

"Well, that's easier for me. One less thing to worry about, huh?" 

"Yes," Phil nods. "Look… sorry. I don't usually… well the weddings I work are usually smaller than this. So wedding planners… I've not dealt with many. I'm not sure how this all works so…" 

"It's fine," Dan says. 

The drunken guest slinks off towards the exit and Dan crosses the dance floor so that he doesn't have to shout. 

"I'm just a bit of a control freak," he says. 

"I… okay." Phil laughs a little to ease what tension he can feel in the air. Dan returns the smile and he feels it dissipate. 

"I'll check out your website anyway," Dan says, "so, you know, maybe we'll see each other again." 

"Yeah maybe," Phil says. "Like, if you have any questions or--" 

"I'll call you," Dan says. 

Phil knows he means professionally, he has absolutely no notions that he means anything other than professionally and yet his stomach turns over with a jolt and he has to swallow down the something stupid he might have said. 

"Anyway, I should get back to making sure everything gets closed down right. I'll see you around, Phil."

"Bye Dan."

They both turn and leave at the same time, except Phil looks back once he's at the entrance to the marquee, just to catch a glimpse of Dan directing people once again. He's stern and in charge and Phil feels a little shiver go through him. 

It's been a long while since anyone has sparked his interest like this. He's usually buried in work, either weddings or at his studio, or else chained to his computer editing the work that he's done. He doesn't meet people. Wedding guests, mostly, and he knows it's frowned upon to sleep with the people that are employing him's guests. Probably not good etiquette to sleep with the wedding planner either. 

_Whoa. Where had that come from?_

It's been a long day is all. That's it. Phil has a fair way to go to get back to London and his brain is turning circles from pure exhaustion.

Everyone insists on getting married in the countryside which, while picturesque, is a bit of a trek when you're going back the same night. 

He could get a hotel room and charge a bit more but it's one of the ways he keeps his prices down.

He does most of his business in digital packages these days. He charges a fee for the day and promises a certain number of final shots, enough to fill an album full of happy memories, or a Facebook wall, whatever it is they choose to do with them. They can pay more if they want more of the shots and every so often a couple will want a larger print or something framed, and Phil has the equipment in his studio to throw that in for an extra fee. 

A few days later, he's making minor adjustments in photoshop, something he normally does. He'll add a watermark to a few in lower resolution and send them to the couple for proofing. They like to have a sneak peak at what is to come in the final selection. Then they decide how many they want. He's cycling through all the pictures, they're vivid and large on his huge monitor. When he gets to the photos of Dan he moves the windows side by side and leans back in his chair. 

He stares at them for a little too long. The photos aren't like the other ones he's taken, or any he remembers taking, except maybe back when he was trying to make it as an actual artistic photographer. Before he worked his first wedding and got paid, before he realised that chasing galleries and art installations was a far flung dream, and that helping happy couples capture their day was just as good. Maybe. 

These photos have something of that bright-eyed artist in them, something about the framing maybe, or the exposure. Whatever it is, he doesn't edit them. He does print them, pinning them to the large wall to the side of his computer, near the window. It's the only spot in the tiny studio that gets sunlight for most of the day.

He tells himself that it doesn't mean anything, just an aesthetic value. That he has an appreciation for the shot, not the subject, but he finds his eyes drifting over to the wall more often than he'll ever admit to anyone that asks.


	2. Chapter Two

**Wilkinson-Harper wedding. August.**

This wedding is huge. It's being held in a stately manor house with a few too many rooms and Phil keeps getting lost as he wanders around them. Though, there are guests everywhere he can photograph, so he looks like he knows what he's doing. 

Finally, he finds himself back in the main room where the bride and groom are mid-conversation with a semi-circle of guests. There is a backdrop of succulents and wildflowers, woven in to an arch of branches. It's tasteful, and a little more modern than he'd have thought when he heard which venue it was. 

It's a last minute booking. Usually he's booked up 6-12 months in advance but he'd had a frantic call from the wedding planner three weeks ago. A lovely lady by the name of Louise who spoke too quickly and barely let Phil get a word in edgeways. 

Apparently the photographer for this wedding had dropped out and she was ringing around photographers to find out if by any miracle they could _please_ attend. Phil came highly recommended, she said. 

Phil did have this weekend free. He'd planned to go back home and see his family but Louise's voice sounded so high pitched and desperate that he'd found himself saying that yes, he could fit a booking in. 

Louise had been practically singing as she gave him the details and said she'd email everything across, and it made Phil feel happy to know that he'd been the cause of it.

The venue is near Brighton and she'd insisted on paying for a hotel so he gets to stay over and explore the beachfront tomorrow for a bit in the morning before he has to go back to London. 

He thinks of pale, worn stones in grey sea foam dappled with morning light, or how all the shops on the pier will still be closed, their brightly coloured canopies folded back. He is framing shots in his mind while he stands in the crowded room, slightly too warm from walking all night carrying his heavy bag on his shoulder. 

Louise had greeted him that morning. A vibrant ball of blonde hair, crossing the grass with wide eyes and a pink dress that rustled as she moved. She held her arms out and hugged him as soon as she was close enough. 

"Phil!" she said. 

"Err... yes." Phil said. He fumbled with the bag he was holding and tried to hug her back. "Hi." 

"You, are a lifesaver," she said, pulling back. 

"No problem." 

"No seriously, this wedding has been a bit of a nightmare to be honest, I've had to call in favours all over the place. Thank goodness someone gave me your name." 

Phil simply smiled at her. She was loud and talkative and he thought it probably was just best to nod and go along with everything, to get swept up in her frantic energy. 

She slipped her arm through his and led him across the grass to the looming door of the huge building. She gave him instructions as they walked, what shots the couple wanted that kind of thing, and then complimented him on the portfolio he had online. 

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and he'd got on with it fairly quickly. Preparation shots as they got ready, extended family, ceremony, staged external photos while the light was still good. Same old same old. 

The bride was actually really nice, she'd offered him a glass of champagne while stood in her hair rollers and silk robe and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Phil had refused, of course, he didn't drink while he was working. He'd put her at ease, though, he was good at that. 

The groom had slapped him a bit too hard on the shoulder and asked him which football team he supported, which threw Phil a little as he wasn't sure he even really knew which football team was in his local area. But he hadn't seemed nervous at all as he adjusted his tie in the mirror, not like other men Phil had seen getting married, so he wasn't all bad. His eyes were alight with excitement and his mouth stretched into a smile when his best man leaned in and told him 'it's time'. Phil captured the moment on his camera and followed them down the stairs. 

The ceremony had been lovely. And later, the cake was a monsterous three-tiered thing with crimson elements that matched the bridesmaids and the sash around the flower girl's waist. All in all it was beautiful and Phil had no trouble getting the shots he needed. Except for the minor issue of getting lost every so often.

Now he's found his way back to where he needs to be, and the DJ is announcing that the first dance is about to begin. Phil moves around the room to get a good angle at which to take the photograph. 

The couple shuffles in to the centre of the floor, self conscious, flushed with the heat of the room, but smiling wide, eyes only for each other. 

"Hello again," says a voice at his side. 

Phil turns from where he is taking a photo of the newlyweds getting in to position as the music starts. At his elbow, he finds the wedding planner Dan from a few months ago looking at him intently. 

"Oh," Phil says. "Hello." 

"How are you?" 

"I'm good." Phil says. "I thought Louise was planning this wedding?" 

Phil curses his mouth for running away with him. Despite himself, he is a little surprised to see Dan here. He'd spent the last couple of months looking up at those photos on his wall thinking that he might have dreamed up how beautiful Dan was in person, or else that he'd had a momentary lapse in sanity and that Dan hadn't been all that captivating after all.

One look at Dan in the stuffy, crowded library, framed in a background of wild flowers, is enough to tell him that he hadn't dreamed it up, Dan was just as he remembered him. 

He's wearing another fabulous suit this time, black again but with a small amount of gold thread woven through it so that it shimmers only when the light hits it. The earring in his ear is gold to match. 

Dan laughs warmly.

"She is," he says, "I'm just the backup. She's had a bit of trouble with people dropping out at the last minute on this one so I said I'd come down to help. I used to work for Louise before I went out on my own so I kind of owe her." 

"Ah," Phil says, "Alright."

He can't talk. Words keep getting stuck in his throat as a dimple in Dan's cheek is lit up by a flash of yellow light from the DJ booth. 

"I'm glad you could step in last minute," Dan says, "I didn't know if you'd be free when I recommended you." 

"You recommended me?" 

"Yeah. I saw the photos from that wedding a few months ago. They were great! I've added you to my recommendation list actually." 

"Kaley and Hannah," Phil says automatically, recalling the brides' names. "Wow. Thank you that's..." 

"No problem," Dan says, leaning back and putting a hand in his pocket so that his jacket folds up and over his wrist delicately, "I have quite a high quality threshold for my recommendations so it was nice to find someone to add. You've got a really unique style, Phil." 

Phil is a bit mesmerised by the curve of Dan's arm, the way he's got one leg bent at the knee, ankle crossed over the other as he leans back against a white marble fireplace. 

He wants to tell Dan that he is unique too. He wants to tell him that he'd like to photograph just the sliver of ankle on show at the hem of his trousers, just the tip of his ear with the glinting earring, just that distracting dimple in his cheek. He wants to catalogue all of the details, from every angle, and then pin them up one by one on his wall in that solitary patch of sunlight.

He doesn't say any of this, however. 

"Thanks." 

Phil turns back to take a few more photos of the first dance, because hiding behind his camera is something he knows how to do. Talking to Dan, it seems, isn't. 

The song comes to an end and other people join them on the floor for the next one so that Phil's view is obscured. He should really move around the other side, get some shots of everyone enjoying themselves, but he can't pull himself away. 

"Go on then," Dan says as Phil lowers the camera. "How long do you give them?" 

"Excuse me?" 

Dan nods at the bride and groom in the middle of the crowd. 

"How long until wedded bliss finally wears off and they're at each other's throats?" 

Phil shakes his head, "I don't think like that." 

"You don't?" the corner of Dan's mouth quirks up just a bit in amusement before he turns to look back at the dance floor. "I say five years, maybe four if he actually has the balls enough to cheat, but I don't think he has it in him." 

"That's..." Phil feels a hot surge of annoyance creep up the back of his neck. "What the hell?" 

Dan shrugs. 

"They're happy!" Phil says, "Who are you to say that won't last?" 

"It doesn't," Dan says, "in my experience. That whole happily ever after bit is just a story people tell themselves. Everyone is convinced they'll be different but... they never are."

"That's a really cynical view to take," Phil says. 

Dan shrugs again, a gentle shuffle of an elegant shoulder. Phil is both irritated and captivated at the same time. 

"You believe in all of that then?" Dan asks, "you think these couples are going to stay the way they look in your photographs forever? Happy and carefree?" 

"I like to think so." 

Dan blinks a little as if surveying Phil. 

"You're adorable," Dan says. "I mean, you're wrong but... it's nice." 

"Thank...you?"

Phil doesn't know whether to be complimented by that or not, and he really has no idea what to do with the fact that Dan called him adorable. 

"Well I should go see if Louise needs anything," Dan says suddenly, pushing himself off the fireplace and pulling his hand from his pocket. "And I'm sure you have pictures to take." 

"Yes." 

"Well, I'll see you around then." 

Dan walks away before Phil gets a chance to say goodbye. He moves through the crowd with purpose, obviously he isn't the type of person to get lost in all these rooms. 

Phil still feels a prickle of irritation at the things Dan had said, but he also feels a gentle pull behind his navel as Dan walks away. He watches as Dan moves fluidly through the crowd of people and once again finds his camera in his hand, raised to his eye. He puts Dan in the centre of the frame, there are people either side of him but all Phil can see is him. 

He presses the button just as Dan moves through the doorway. He's fished his phone out of his pocket and he's looking down at it, a soft curl has fallen onto his forehead and his lips are pouting, just slightly, plush and pink. 

It's candid and rough and it's not even a good photo, but Phil doesn't delete it when he looks back over it on his camera's screen. 

Once the festivities have died down Phil is on the hunt for Louise to tell her that he's got everything he needs and is going to head out. As he crosses the grand hallway by the front door he catches sight of Dan helping the DJ move equipment. He's taken his jacket off and his sleeves are rolled up. His bare forearms strain as he lifts a heavy speaker in one hand and Phil can see the dip of lean muscle shifting under his golden skin. 

He slinks back towards the curve of a huge banister and ducks out of sight. He doesn't know why he doesn't want to be seen, except the way he adjusts his camera and takes a picture of Dan like that, in the doorway so that the blanket of nighttime outside bounces moonlight off his hair, is fairly shameful. 

He should feel ashamed to be doing this. It's borderline creepy, possibly. Taking photos of the wedding planner, or- assistant wedding planner in today's case- can't even be constituted doing his job. 

But his pictures of Dan so far have been warm, golden skin and disco lights. This one is cool-toned, milky white moonlight streaming in through the door illuminating the white of Dan's shirt pulled tight across his chest. 

Phil enjoys the contrast, how Dan looks good in both sets of lighting. How he yearns to put him in his studio and flick between the two, have him turn this way and that so he gets to know what each of those pretty details looks like in both. 

Maybe he'd ask Dan for more, the dip of his waist in a slow white glow, his hands in greyscale. But Dan doesn't have time for sentimental beauty, he barely believes in happiness going by what he said, so there's no chance he'd let Phil photograph him just because it makes something warm rise in him to do so. These far away shots of him in mundane situations are all Phil will ever have.

So yeah, it's creepy, but Phil saves the photo anyway. 

"Are you looking for me?" Louise's voice says behind him. 

"Ah, yes." 

"Sorry," she says, batting a blonde strand of hair out of her face, "we have to be out of the venue by eleven thirty so it's all hands on deck to move everything."

"Oh..." Phil says, "do you need..." 

"Don't be silly," Louise flaps. "Did you get good photos?" 

Phil thinks briefly of the two shots of Dan he has stored on his memory card. 

"Yes. Very good, I think." 

"That's fantastic. I'm sure Dana and Ethan will be thrilled."

"I'll be in touch with the proofs," Phil says, "we can go from there." 

Louise thanks him again and he's finally allowed to leave. He puts his camera away at last and shoulders his bag. He's tired and he's looking forward to his hotel bed and the small adventure he will have on a rocky beach tomorrow morning. 

He bumps into Dan again on his way out to the taxi. 

"You off?" Dan asks, a hand swiping through his hair. 

"Yes," Phil says, "I'm... I'm off." 

"You staying nearby?" 

"Premier Inn down the way," he says. 

"Hm. Me too." 

_We should get coffee_ Phil wants to say. It springs into his mind unbidden and sudden. It's scary how much he wants to actually say it. But it's crazy and weird, they don't know each other. Even if Phil has been staring at photographs of his face for two months it doesn't change the fact that they have only met twice, or the fact that real-life Dan is cynical and jaded, turned off by the idea of happy couples actually being happy.

The Dan on his wall is a different person. 

"Well, goodnight then." Dan says when Phil doesn't reply. 

"Goodnight, Dan." 

He makes it to the taxi without embarrassing himself any further, and without any strange impulses to ask cute yet aloof boys for coffee. He's tired, he surmises, it's been a long day and he just needs a lie down. 

When he gets home he'll print the pictures of Dan and hang them below the other two. They'll help Phil keep that fictional version of Dan alive for a while, the smooth and golden version that doesn't disagree with the notion of a happy ending. 

Then he can move on, remind himself that idealised versions of people never really exist, that beyond a camera's lens is real person with complex and contradictory emotions. He'll remind himself of the real version of Dan, cold and sarcastic, the type of person that predicts the end of a marriage while he's still at the wedding. 

And that will be enough to put an end to his foolishness.


	3. Chapter Three

**September.**

Phil is just clearing up his studio after a shoot when the phone rings. He only uses his mobile, but he empties out his pockets when he's working so it's vibrating over on his desk, an incessant buzz against the side of an abandoned coffee mug. 

He makes it across the small space in three strides and picks it up without really looking at the screen. 

"Hello, Phil Lester Photography." 

"Phil," the person on the phone says, "It's Dan." 

Phil isn't expecting this. He turns his feet on the spot, shoes squeaking on his laminate floor and stares at the photos on his wall. 

"The err... wedding planner. Dan Howell?" 

Phil hasn't answered and clearly Dan has taken this as a sign that Phil doesn't know who he is and has tried to clear it up. 

"Of course," Phil says. "Dan Hi, How can I help?" 

"Well, I'm calling to book you, actually." 

"You are?" 

The bottom falls out of Phil's stomach and his ear feels hot against the phone. 

"Well, maybe," Dan says. "I don't even know if you'll be available." 

"What the date?" He shakes the mouse on his desk, illuminating his monitor. He clicks over to outlook where his bookings are all colour coded depending on what they are. 

Wedding, private photo shoot, family portraits, he even has to schedule his editing days. 

"November Eleventh." 

He checks the date. He had blocked it out for admin, just general stuff with updating his portfolio online, responding to emails, that kind of thing, but it's nothing he can't rearrange if he wants to. And... he kind of wants to. 

"I'll have to shift some stuff," he says, not wanting to sound eager, "but I think I can make it work." 

"Great. Pencil us in for then, and I'll arrange for you to come down to my office to meet them in person, is that okay?" 

"Sure, Monday next week works for me. Or.... Thursday afternoon." 

Dan goes silent for a moment, possibly checking his own calendar. 

"Thursday," he says. "Around two?" 

"Great." 

Phil glances up at his wall again as there is another moment of silence. There are four pictures now, of Dan. He's fixated on the one of him in the moonlight, swathed in silver, shirt sleeves rolled up. He remembers afterwards when he'd nearly invited Dan for coffee, when the urge had crept up on him and tugged. 

It feels like that now. He's arranged to see him again and it's all been very professional and cordial but he wants to stay on the phone, he wants to ask Dan about his day. He wants to hear his smile through the phone so he can imagine the dimple in his cheek and the brown of his eyes. 

What the hell is wrong with him? 

"So, you're busy then?" Dan says. 

"Um. Oh... yeah. A bit. I suppose..." 

It catches Phil off guard that Dan is continuing the conversation past the point of their arrangements. It had been what he'd wanted but now faced with it he doesn't really know what to do. 

"You?" he says, pathetically. 

"Not too bad," Dan says. "I can't complain."

"So I'll... I'll see you on, err, Thursday?" 

He hears a bit of a crash from the otherside of the phone and a muffled curse under Dan's breath. 

"Dan?" Phil says. 

"Shit. Sorry, I just knocked over my fucking... ugh." 

Phil laughs. He shouldn't, and he doesn't mean to, but Dan's voice has gone a bit high and squeaky, almost whiney, it's precious. 

"There is coffee all over my keyboard. I'd better go." 

"Okay," Phil says. "Good luck with the keyboard, I hope it doesn't start typing really fast." 

"What?" 

"You know cus of the.... caffeine?" 

Hearing it out loud Phil is immediately struck by how lame that joke is. He wants to crawl away and never be seen again. Sometimes his mouth says things before his brain has a chance to evaluate them for comedic value first and he winds up saying the oddest things. 

But then Dan is laughing. Honey warm and full it fills his ear through the phone and Phil was right, he can imagine the dimple and the way his chest moves just from hearing it. 

"You are the strangest person I've ever met," Dan says between deep breaths. 

It doesn't sound like a bad thing when he says it. It sounds like being strange is something Dan likes, and Phil finds he wants to be someone Dan likes. 

"I probably am," Phil says. 

"I really have to go." 

"Okay." 

They say goodbye and they hang up and Phil lets the phone drop to his side. He looks at the pictures for a few more moments, wondering what it is about them that makes him feel like he's somewhere else, like he's capable of flying away if he really wanted to. 

But he can't. He has nowhere to go. He cleans up his studio and gets on with his day. 

Thursday rolls around before he knows it, and he meets the couple he's been hired for at Dan's office. It's one office on the ground floor of one of those fancy houses in Belgravia. White columns and a black door give way to an office with a black sofa and a glass table. There's a black and white photo on the wall above the sofa of a bride and groom and a cake, it's unremarkable to say the least. 

"It's a stock image," Dan says, handing him a cup of filtered coffee. He doesn't have instant, he's informed Phil, and his nose had wrinkled like that was the worst thing in the world. Phil wants a photograph of that expression, but then, he pretty much wants a photograph of all of Dan's expressions. "Don't judge my artistic tastes based on that." 

"I wasn't," Phil says. 

"I needed something to put there but I couldn't find anything I liked enough, you know? So that was temporary, but it's been up for a year."

"You'll have to find something you like, then." Phil says. 

"I like your work," Dan says. "Maybe you'll let me hang something of yours." 

Phil takes a sip of coffee and hides his shaking hands by wrapping both of them around his mug. "Sure." 

The couple is lovely. John and Shirley. They're a bit older, this is a second marriage for both of them. They've gone over the main points, Phil's pricing structure and the process of getting the photos, and they've looked at his work and complimented him on it. The only problem is that they seem bashful at the idea of wanting to make a fuss, like they shouldn't be allowed to splash out like this, get fancy photos of a wedding when they've both been married before.

"We're neither of us spring chickens," John says, "it might look a bit... odd, if we decide to get fancy photos like this."

"You're entitled to do what you want," Dan says. "You're paying for it."

John and Shirley are sat on the sofa, Phil's printed portfolio open across their laps. Dan sits in an armchair, artfully reclined with one leg crossed over the other, and Phil is perched on a temporary seat they've brought in from the hall. It's not really that comfortable and the burgandy of the seat cushion doesn't match Dan's monochrome aesthetic at all. 

"Not only that," Phil says. "Regardless of what went before, you two found each other in this crazy and sometimes horrible world, and your wedding is a way of saying that you're going to face what's next together. You two against the rest of the world. You deserve to celebrate that in whatever fashion you want to."

Dan's head is turned towards him and Phil can't quite see what his face is doing. Shirley puts a hand over her mouth and John smiles widely. 

"And that's what you're going to capture for us?" Shirley says. 

"I'll do my best," Phil says.

"Yes," Shirley says, "I believe you will."

The couple turn to each other and engage in what appears to be a silent conversation that culminates in Shirley nodding and John turning back towards Phil.

"Good man," John says, "seems Shirley is quite taken with your work so, we'd be delighted to have you photograph our wedding." 

He closes the portfolio and hands it back. Phil folds his arms over it on his knees and grins. 

"Great," Phil says. "I can organise everything with Dan, you won't need to worry about a thing."

John stands, Shirley following, and Phil takes that as a sign he should too. 

Dan is a bit slower to stand up next to him, and he still has a bit of a perplexed look on his face as they all shake hands and say goodbye. 

"Brilliant sales technique," Dan says once they've gone. 

"What?" 

"The whole 'you two against the world' bit. Nice." 

"It wasn't a technique," Phil says, zipping up his portfolio and picking up his jacket. 

"Right," Dan says, that irritating smile tugging at his mouth, "You actually believe all of that true love stuff." 

Phil had forgotten this part. Dan is infuriating, cynical and harsh about everything his business should be celebrating. 

"How did you even get in to wedding planning if you don't?" Phil says. 

"I worked for Louise." Day says, with a shrug. "I really wanted to do event planning for like music festivals or something, whatever young me thought was cool. But Louise gave me a job and I just kind of stuck with it. She was really supportive when I wanted to set up on my own. I guess I found out that I was good at it, despite my feelings on marriage." 

Phil hadn't expected an answer, much less one as honest as that one. 

"I..." Phil sighs a little, "I get that. I didn't exactly get my photography degree with the idea of being a wedding photographer either." 

"What was your idea?"

Phil chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands of his quiff back into place. 

"The usual. Artistic integrity, galleries, shows, that kind of thing. But rent is expensive and I didn't want to leave London after I graduated. My tutor booked a wedding he needed a hand with. I got paid for that job, actual money, and... well, the rest is history." 

Dan nods, his curls bouncing a little with how emphatic it is. 

"But you still believe in it all," Dan says. 

"I do." Phil says, clearing his throat. "I believe... I mean, I have to. I don't think I'd be able to do my job if I didn't." 

"There's the difference," Dan says. "I don't have to put emotion in to what I do. It's all just planning and making sure everyone does what they're supposed to. Helps that I'm a bit of a control freak. But I suppose with you..." 

"I have to feel it," Phil says, "Or it shows." 

"Do you..." Dan says. His voice has dropped a little, quieter and hesitant. "Do you have someone, then? Helping you believe all of that? Some grand true love?"

"God no." Phil shifts, put a hand in his pocket, portfolio swinging in the other. "It's just me. Pathetically so. I just... I have to believe it's possible. Otherwise it's just sad." 

Dan chews on his bottom lip and gives what could be considered a nod, a tiny jerk of his chin towards his chest. 

"What about you?" Phil says. 

His stomach twists. Dan is arrogant and his views on the world do not align with Phil's at all but he still feels scrunched up inside as he asks, like a mess akin to hope is wound up in his chest. 

"I... no. Not... like I said, in my experience things don't last." 

"Sorry," Phil says. "I shouldn't have asked. I..." 

Dan visibly shakes himself, moving to pick up the interloping chair ruining the modern sleek theme of his office. "Don't worry about it. Sorry to have kept you, I'm sure you have other things to be doing today." 

Phil doesn't. All he's going to do is go back to his studio and answer emails, change up the photos on his website maybe, spend too long looking at the pictures of Dan on his wall. He'd much rather stay here and look at Dan in the flesh. 

But that's weird, and he's doing that thing where he imagines Dan as someone he isn't. He's just stood there and told him that he doesn't believe in anything, that they couldn't be more different if he tried. It's best he leave this weird fascination he has to the parameters of Dan's face in his camera lens, and far away from morphing Dan into something else in his head. 

In fact, he should probably get over the whole thing. It's not like he'll ever actually ask Dan to pose for him. What on earth would he even do with the photos? Hang them on his own wall and stare at them until the effect wears off? 

"I... yeah," Phil says. "Thanks for setting this up. I'll see you at the wedding, I guess." 

"Alright, Phil. Thanks for coming in." 

Dan extends a hand and Phil fumbles momentarily before he realises Dan means for them to shake hands. By the time he's also putting his own hand out Dan has almost dropped his and they share a little laugh at their awkwardness.

"Bye Dan," Phil says. "Have a good day." 

"Yeah," Dan says as Phil leaves, "you too."


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit later in the day than normal because my cat decided to stay out late and I was running around the neighbourhood trying to find him

**Jones-Tippett wedding. November.**

The wedding is over. Phil has his camera bag at his feet in the grass, his tie is loose around his neck, top button undone, and there is cold air on his neck. 

It's nearly winter. Too chilly to be out here by far but his skin feels hot. There's an empty champagne bottle by his right hand perched on the short brick wall, and the lights from inside shine from behind him where the staff are cleaning up. 

Dan stands a way off in the grass. He's in silhouette against a navy blue sky, highlights of pale white in his hair and off the shine of his shoes. His suit is black again, and it blends in to the obsidian deep dark around him. 

Phil reaches for his camera with drink-numb fingers and tries to make the settings see what he sees. But the resulting picture is flatter than he'd like, it doesn't have the richness of the sky, the chill of the evening, the quiet song Dan is humming under his breath. 

Phil lowers the camera to his lap. 

"What's that?" Phil asks. 

"Huh?" 

Dan turns, treacle slow, his shiny shoes slipping slightly on the damp grass. In the distance, a car horn beeps loudly, punctuating the night air and putting a stop to the sweet tune whispered under Dan's breath.

"The song," Phil says. 

His words are a little elongated, slurred around the edges with the fizz of champagne. 

"S'nothing," Dan says, and his voice sounds much the same. 

Phil has lost the thread of how they ended up out here. He remembers the wedding, ceremony, outdoor shots, the cake the dance the throwing of the bouquet. All very normal. 

John and Shirley had seemed happy, elated even, as the long silver car whisked them into the night, off to their honeymoon, off to the rest of their lives. 

And then that was it. It's a smallish venue, a posh bar and restaurant that, while fancy and a little grand, didn't really require Dan to do much by way of breaking down. 

Once the guests had started to dwindle the venue staff were on hand to ensure everyone got away safely and Dan was finished for the evening. As, it seemed, was Phil. 

He's not staying over, but Dan did insist on ordering a car to take him home. It wasn't due for a while when Dan sidled up next to him with two bottles of champagne in his hands. 

He wasn't at work anymore, Dan had said when Phil declined. 

He already looked relaxed, an elegant slope of his shoulders, an easy liquidity in his movements. Phil so desperately wanted to be around this Dan, the soft slow version, brow glistening with a sheen of perspiration from working all evening. 

Condensation dripped off the bottom of one cold bottle onto Phil's shoe, and he'd agreed. 

That had been an hour ago. The guests have long since left and Dan and Phil had been relegated to the garden while the staff put the room back straight. They could have gone through to the public bar, but it had been crowded and loud and Dan had wrinkled his nose. Phil was thankful, he followed Dan out into the garden, slightly chilled in November air, and the rest had blurred away as they sipped from the bottle. 

They hadn't talked about much. Work mostly, and a bit of TV, but Dan is still a little bit of a mystery. But he's nicer like this, his edges smoothed a little, the rough of his personality filed down. 

"You're pretty," Phil hears himself saying. 

"Do you think so?" 

Phil nods, his head moving heavy and slow. Uncoordinated, up when he means it to go down and vice versa. 

"I know what pretty is," Phil says. 

"That's good," Dan says, dragging his feet as he makes his way over to sit on the wall next to him. 

He picks up the bottle, tips it in to his mouth only to find it empty. He closes one eye and peers into the top of it as if the champagne is somehow hiding from him. He sighs. 

"You're nice," Dan says. 

"Nice?" Phil scoffs. 

"No," Dan puts the bottle on the floor by his feet and shakes his head a little too hard. "Nice. Like, not many people are nice. I'm not nice. But you are. Nice."

"Right."

Dan reaches over, wrapping a large hand around his camera and drawing it over to him. Phil lets it go, sliding his fingers from it and watching it transfer into Dan's palms. 

He fiddles with the settings, turning the power switch so that the screen lights him up pale blue. 

Phil is astounded. He doesn't know where to look when Dan is lifting the camera, it covers most of his face but Phil can still see his mouth, his plush bottom lip pulled between his teeth where he's gnawing on it. He tracks the movement, the way the pink flesh gives under the pressure.

He hears the click of the shutter. 

"See," Dan says, handing it back over so that it lands in Phil's hand heavily, "nice." 

"You can't photograph nice," Phil says. 

He turns the camera over, the light from the screen shifting until it's staring him in the face. He blinks. The image shining back at him is far too telling. He looks mesmerised, his hair is a mess and his cheeks are flushed pink. 

Phil needs to stand up. He moves the camera back to shooting mode because he can't bear to look at how obvious he is. Dan's head follows his movements as he clumsily extends his legs, they're a little shaky beneath him but they hold his weight.

He still has his camera in his hand. 

Dan is looking at him with a strange kind of amusement. His white shirt is shining in the darkness and behind him, the glow of dotted lights from the conservatory of the venue hang around him like stars. Golden, blurry stars. 

"You're beautiful," Phil says. 

The dimple in Dan's cheek dips for a split second but then it's gone. Dan plants his hands on the wall either side of him and leans back a little. The buttons of his shirt strain against the flat slope of his chest and his jacket hangs off his shoulders. He's got his feet on the floor at awkward angles and he's twisted up a little. 

Everything Phil knows about posing and staging photos tells him that this shouldn't look good. His arrangement of limbs is too haphazard, won't fill a frame equally in a way that's pleasing to the eye but Phil can't help but think it's wonderful. 

He lifts the camera and Dan cocks his head, just a fraction. The shutter sounds loud in the darkness. The exposure is up, Phil's skill with the instrument working automatically, so he has no problem capturing the image. But a quick glance at the screen tells him he's failed to capture that retain something extra he feels when he looks at Dan. 

He has the feeling that he could photograph Dan every single way that's possible and still never replicate it. 

"See," Phil says, offering him the chance to look at the screen. 

"Come here," Dan says, instead.

Phil lets the camera fall to his side, weighing down one hand. He moves closer to the wall where Dan is sat, so close they are knee to knee. 

Dan is warm through his suit trousers and his kneecaps are bony where they bump against Phil's. 

Dan sits up straighter, bringing himself nearer so that Phil can see the warm brown of his irises reflecting the lights. He shivers, the air is cold and the contrast of Dan's warmth is too much. 

He's still fuzzy, everything seems thick and slow and he's just drifting along with it like being taken out by the tide. So much so that when Dan pulls his knees apart, Phil steps in to the space without a thought. 

They're pressed up against each other now. The inside of Dan's thigh is solid against the outside of Phil's leg and Dan's hand is coming up to run along his fingers still gripped around the camera. Dan's fingertips map the bumps and divots of it, and the valleys in between Phil's knuckles. They ghost over the back of Phil's palm and curl around his wrist, gentle yet insistent when he tugs. 

Phil is falling. Or he's tipping over at least, spinning through frigid air, his empty hand suddenly flat against the top of the wall, right up next to Dan's hip.

He can feel Dan's breath on his cheek.

"No one ever called me beautiful before," Dan says. 

Or _perhaps_ he says it. Phil hears the words and thinks he feels Dan's lips move where they are featherlight on his cheek, but he can't have. Or, at least, it can't be true. 

Dan is gorgeous, and close, and Phil can't believe anyone ever gets within six feet of Dan without thinking of how lovely he is. Let alone close enough to know when Dan takes a breath by the way his chest rises and falls in the space between them. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Phil is trying to remember that Dan is a cynic. That this means nothing, that he's swimming in deep waters without a float and the current will pull him under any moment. 

It rushes in his ears. He can feel a wave of bravery or stupidity bubble up, and the heat of Dan's hand on the back of his neck. He doesn't know when that happened. 

He turns his head. It isn't an accident. The champagne is still fizzing in his veins and swirling in his head but he knows what will happened when he does. 

He's drowning. Dan presses his lips to Phil's and Phil feels like he's gone under, swept away by a tide into a vast ocean be can't possibly hope to survive. 

He doesn't care. He doesn't care. 

He thinks of the camera in his hand. He wants this moment, to keep it framed behind glass, so it can be admired. Or… so it can be remembered. He might not get all the details right tomorrow, the taste of Dan's mouth as Phil slips his tongue past the seal of his lips, the slide of Dan's fingers into the hair at the base of Phil's skull. 

But there are things you can't photograph. Moments made up of sensation that would never translate into a static image, and Phil mourns the loss of this one before it is even over. 

Dan huffs a breath as they part, a tiny noise as if the kiss ended sooner than he'd thought it would. But it has to.

"The car," Phil says. 

There are bright lights to their right now. Dan illuminated in white. Headlights in the car park. He looks dishevelled, his suit is askew and his lips are pink and swollen. How long were they kissing? Phil had lost track.

His wrist aches where it's held him up and the grip on his camera is sweaty. 

Dan just nods and Phil gathers his things in silence. 

The bubble has popped, the tide has retreated. Stark bright lights punctuate the darkness like a full stop, bringing an end to their little patch of madness. 

"Thanks for your help tonight," Dan says 

He still looks wrecked, his curls are haphazard and Phil aches to put them right. 

"No problem," he says instead. "I'll be in touch with the photos." 

"All of them?" Dan says. 

Phil has his camera back in the bag on his shoulder, and he's run a hand through his hair to flatten it, but he can still feel Dan all over him. He can still taste him a little bit. 

"Yeah," he says, and his voice sounds odd even to himself. 

He thinks of the photos of Dan on his camera. The one he knows about and the one he doesn't. He thinks about the ones on the wall of his studio. 

When it comes down to it he won't send it. Dan is best when he's still, pinned up on Phil's wall frozen and untouchable. He's safer viewed from afar where Phil doesn't have to think about all the things he is, only the things he wishes that he was. 

The pictures are for him, and by tomorrow Dan will have forgotten they exist.


	5. Chapter Five

**The Sandhu-Loury Wedding. February.**

Phil thinks this might be the weirdest wedding he's been to yet. The whole thing has him slightly on edge to be honest but he'd said yes to it before Christmas, and he hadn't really been thinking. 

It's a new year now, a fresh start if he wants it, and he's learning to roll with the punches. 

He'd picked up the phone from Dan's office sometime in early December expecting it to be the man himself. What he expected him to say he didn't know, something about that night in the garden perhaps, something to break the radio silence of the last month by admitting he did remember what had happened. 

It wasn't Dan. It was a lovely girl by the name of Dodie who, it turned out, was now working for Dan as his assistant or whatever, Phil wasn't sure. She was... perky. It wasn't that Phil minded the cheer, far from it, he'd often been accused of reckless optimism himself upon occasion, but her upbeat chatter was a little unwelcome when he'd been looking forward to the usual sarcasm and dry wit of Dan's conversation.

She'd called to hire him. A wedding in February that was, and she paused here a little bit, unique. 

Unique it is. The grooms are both in bright orange suits that clash horribly with the purple flowers and the green cake and the red bridesmaids, they've got yellow place settings and pink lighting and the whole thing is a multicoloured jumble. But it's happy, and Phil had felt a little choked up when during the vows the couple had declared their love for each other loudly and happily, with matching grins and glossy tear-laden eyes. 

The resulting pictures will be crazy bright and Phil will have to mess with all sorts of settings to get them balanced but... it's still beautiful. He can't help himself, he loves weddings. 

Dodie is hovering around now, flitting between each of the grooms and the family, her ear piece in, brown hair in a fancy french plait across the top of her head, tendrils of it spilling down around her face.

Phil knows Dan is here somewhere too. He'd been present like a spectre, in a black suit so starkly contrasted against the bright colours everywhere, and phil had spotted him across the room. He'd looks serious and determined, but not as involved as Phil has usually seen him. 

He longed to go over and talk to him, but in the first case he has no idea what he'd say and in the second... well, Dan knows he's here. If he wanted to talk to him, if he wanted to bring up what had happened between them, wouldn't he have said something? 

Instead he's left it all to Dodie. Kind, lovely dodie who has gotten herself in a bit of a flap and has come to tell Phil the itinerary has changed twice. The grooms, it seems, don't like sticking to a schedule. 

Phil is happy to go with the flow, to follow guests around and point his camera where it's needed, but Dodie seems determined to create some order in this chaos. He just smiles and nods at her and watches her whirl away, her high-waisted skirt circling her calves and her blouse billowing at the base of her spine. 

Luckily she seems to have found someone else to flap around and Phil has been left to his own devices for a while. 

It's that point of the evening where everyone is getting on with their own thing. Dancing and drinking. Drinking a lot actually, it's all fairly raucous.

They don't appear to want to do any of the traditional things like a first dance or cutting the cake, so Phil has to make his own route around the room deciding what to shoot. 

They'd visited his studio for their initial set up conversation. They'd hired him already, happy to take Dan's recommendation, but Phil still thought it best to find out what they wanted. what kind of vibe they were going for. 

Candid, they said. Casual and laid back. They didn't want anything forced or posed, nothing just for the cameras. Start as they meant to go on.

Phil can do candid. He circles the room, taking the odd shot of smiling faces, bursts of colour, wild dance moves. He captures smiles and tears and frowns, bathed in light and shadow, backdrops covering the entire rainbow spectrum. 

But now he's at a bit of a loose end. Without a set list of shots to work to he's adrift. He's got way more than the required number of photos already and the evening is just going to go on much the same. He should stay until the end most definitely, but it's not important for him to carry on taking photos at the pace he has been. 

Instead, he lets his camera sit heavy around his neck and leans up against a wall near the back, scanning the crowd. He isn't looking for Dan, he tells himself, he's just not. 

That night in the garden seems like so long ago. It's been three months. Phil doesn't know why he thought that Dan might have called him after, because he remembers thinking that the whole thing didn't matter. It was just the dark and the fairy lights and the moonlight in Dan's hair. 

The picture of Dan silhouetted against the night sky, dipped in silver, is stuck up on his wall. It's richly dark, shadowed and inky black. The sky and Dan's suit. 

He's amassing quite the collection.

He'd toyed with taking them down, honestly, but taking one by the corner and easing away from the blue tack was enough to make him change his mind. He can't bear the thought of not having them there every day, not being able to look up at the pictures and see... 

Well, that's just it. 

He doesn't thinks it's _Dan_ so much as the thrill he feels when he's shooting him. That pure exhilaration of taking a photo, of creating an image, just because he wants to, because he has to. He hasn't felt like that for years.

He didn't think he ever would again. 

He's not surprised when Dan sidles up next to him, bumping him slightly. He's flustered, still slightly pissed off that he hasn't heard from him, but considering this is how these things go between them, he isn't surprised.

"Taking a rest?" he says. 

Phil looks out across the busy room of dancing people, all swirls of colour in jarring combinations. 

"I've got quite a lot of shots," he says, "Don't worry." 

"I wasn't worrying." 

"Then what were you doing?"

An leans against the wall next him him, neither of them looking at each other and instead choosing to stare stubbornly out at the wedding carrying on around them. For Phil, though, the moment has shrunk down to just this patch of wall, wide enough for him and Dan but no one else. 

"I was starting conversation" Dan says, "You know, being friendly." 

"Oh," Phil says before he can stop himself, "I didn't think you knew how to do that." 

Dan doesn't respond for a second and Phil can imagine the frown he must be making, but he still daren't turn his head to look. He doesn't think he can cope with looking Dan right in the eye at the moment, he has no idea what might tumblr out of his mouth when he does. 

"Have I done something?" Dan asks. 

Phil breathes in, holding it there in his chest as he runs over his anger, pushing up against it to see whether it's liable to break. 

Has Dan done something? Really? There was a drunken kiss in cold garden and all of a sudden he's acting like some lovesick teenager. Sure, the moment was artificially romantic, the soft lighting, the proximity of Dan in his suit dimly lit by the night's rich inkpot, but it hadn't been a moment. It had been nothing more than what it was, drink-fuelled stupidity spurred on by loneliness. At least on Phil's part. 

"No," Phil settles for, "You haven't done anything." 

"Well… good." Dan say. "So, how are you? Dodie said she's bothered you at least ten times today already. Sorry about her." 

Phil chuckles, "No worries. But, I mean… what's with Dodie anyway? She's lovely, don't get me wrong, but I thought you worked alone." 

"Hm," Dan agrees, "So did I." 

Phil turns then, pressing his shoulder to the wall instead of his back and perring intently at Dan's profile. His nose has a nice slant to it, his jaw is slightly less defined at this angle but he still appreciates the curve of it, and his hair swirls delicately against his forehead. He was wrong, it isn't just the photography, it's _Dan_.

"So you just decided apropos of nothing to take on someone else?" 

"Dodie is a student," Dan explains, "She's studying event planning and wanted some hands-on experience. She knows Louise, but Louise already has Zoe working over with her now and so she asked me if…." Dan pouts, "I'm trying to be less of a control freak." 

"Yeah?" Phil says, his voice tinged with just a little bit of mocking, "How's that going?" 

Dan shifts too so that he's looking at Phil. He doesn't angle himself closer, just turns his head, his hair making a soft sussanrt sound as it glides against the plaster. 

"How do you think?" 

"You don't seem to be interfering too much today," Phil points out, "You're letting her get on with it." 

Dan laughs. It's a bit loud, juddering through his whole body, his shoulders jumping. 

"What?" Phil asks, "What's so funny?" 

"I just…" be breathes in. It starts as a breath, but ends as a sigh that cuts his laugh short. "I've been putting out fires left and right, one of them literal if you count the caterers needing a hand with the extinguisher. The colour scheme is a mess, nothing has been planned the way it should be, and I'm trying to be calm and compassionate and _coach_ Dodie rather than ordering her abouts but I'm… well I'm not very good at it. All in all this thing is an absolute farce." 

"They're happy though," Phil says, gesturing to the happy couple embracing in the middle of the dance floor, "that's the main thing." 

Dan nods, more to himself than to Phil. 

"I forgot," he says "you're one of those romantic types." 

Phil thinks of fairy lights and the scent of a garden and nods. "I am." 

From somewhere to their left there is a clatter and Phil jerks his head to see Dodie flapping about next to a server, a tray spinning wildly on the floor, its contents strewn underfoot. 

"Oh god," Dan says beside him. 

"Look like you're needed," Phil says. 

Dan makes a soft groaning noise and rolls his eyes. Phil thinks about how lovely he looks when his shoulders are set the way they are, how the crease between his brows adds a little something to his face. He needs to get a grip. 

"Good luck," Phil says. 

Dan stomps off in the direction of the mess and Phil watches him stride into the fray. His posture is different all of a sudden, stiffer, more professional. He looks much more collected than Phil knows he is, all of that frustration safely tucked away.

Phil can't help but take a photo of the chaos. At least, he tells himself that's what he's taking a photo of as he zooms in on Dan's concentration. There's a pull at the corners of his mouth that Phil ensures is in focus, the stiff composure of his shoulders stretching from one corner of the frame to the other. 

He wants to believe that this isn't a photo he'll keep, that he's just taking it because he hasn't taken a photo in a few minutes and of course people would want to remember that time a serve dropped a tray on the floor during their wedding and… yeah. This one will end up on the wall in his studio the same as the others. 

Phil moves back into the bustle once he's done. Getting lost in colour, the weight of his camera in his hands a kind of comfort as he attempts to shake away the thoughts of Dan still lingering in his mind. 

He'd thought he was done, that he was mad about Dan not calling or that the night in the garden hadn't come to anything. But he can't be sure that Dan wasn't waiting for _him_ to call. He doesn't know, is the problem, he keeps going over and over it as guests tap him on the shoulder and pose with wide smiles and arms through over each other's shoulders. Questions circle like crows and land in crooked nests, disrupting his thoughts. 

Which is why he seeks Dan out at the end. 

It's too much like last time for Phil's liking, wedding guests dwindling, an empty room that looks much more drab now the colour has started to seep from it. The lighting is warm and Phil makes sure to pack his camera away, so that he won't feel the urge. 

"That went well," Phil says as he find Dan holding the guest book in his hands. They haven't taken it with them and he imagines Dan will have to return it to them. 

"As well as could be expected," Dan says. 

"What about Dodie?" Phil asks, "does she live to tell the tale?" 

Dan smiles, just a fraction, before hiding it again. "She can stay," he says, "but we probably need to have a bit of a conversation around my preferred methods." 

"Wow," Phil says, "I'm impressed." 

Dan looks up at him and crooks an eyebrow, "You are?" 

"Yeah. That almost sounded managerial. _Coach_ -like." 

"Shut up," Dan laughs, closing the book with a snap. 

"So… I wanted to ask you something," Phil says, jumping in with both feet. If he doesn't do this now he never will, and if he never does then the questions with keep fluttering in their haphazard flight, and it may well drive him mad. 

"Shoot." 

Go for it, Phil thinks, just do it. 

"Did you want to get a coffee with me sometime?" 

Dan blinks. Phil closes his mouth with a sound to rival that of the closing guestbook and feels his heart sink before Dan even replies. 

"Um," Dan starts, and Phil wishes the ground would swallow him whole. 

"No worries," Phil says, hurriedly. 

"I just think that--" 

"No, no it's fine," Phil tries on a laugh but it sounds hollow and tinny, fake in all the wrong ways. "I just thought I'd ask, you know, no big deal." 

"It's not that I don't… cus I mean…." Dan's hand is moving the guestbook between them. His palm is large and flat over the spine and his knuckles are white where his grip is strong. He takes a breath, a short sharp single one that seems to reset whatever ramble he'd been in. "I just think that as we work together it doesn't seem like a good idea." 

"Right," Phil says, "Like I said, no big deal." 

"You sure?" 

"Yes." 

Dan nods, "alright then. Good. Thank you." 

"You're… welcome?" 

This is the worse conversation he's ever had. He wants to leave it immediately, to pick up his camera bag and turn his back on Dan and reconsider ever working a wedding ever again. 

Luckily he's spared any further embarrassment when Dan makes his excuses a second later. Holding up the book in evidence of the errand he needs to run, and Phil nods and lets him leave, taking his dignity with him. 

That couldn't have gone worse. 

Days later, when he's flicking through the photos from the day, preparing the proofs, he comes across the photo of Dan. His gaze is as intense as Phil remembers it being, a buzz of anger threaded through his posture. He prints it immediately and pins it up there with the rest. 

It can't be about Dan, he reasons, it must be about the photos and the art and the creative outlet, because despite everything even though he feels hot with shame over his rejection, he still wants to keep the photos there, where he can see them.


	6. Chapter Six

**Merriweather-Hall wedding - March.**

Phil feels lost without his camera. The solid weight of it in his hands is usually comforting, and surveying a crowd like this is much easier when he can put it in a frame, arrange it into a pleasing set-up, and then let it dissipate. 

There are a few members of the wedding party laughing with Lexi on the other side of the room, her brand new wife Amber looking on with a fond expression. It's the perfect shot, the day all rolled up, and Phil can't even take out his phone to capture it. He'd promised. 

"We want you to enjoy it," Amber had said. 

"Yeah," Lexi chimed in from the oven where she was making them dinner. "So no fucking pictures, alright Phil?" 

He rarely goes to weddings as a guest. 

There's nothing for it but to distract himself. He's made it through the ceremony and the meal and now it's just the party to go. But it's this point he's feeling his lack of plus one more keenly than before. 

"You'll bring someone, won't you?" Amber had asked him.

But that was one promise he wasn't going to make. Lexi didn't even have anything sarcastic to say in response, he must really have looked pathetic. 

He's doesn't really intend to, but he finds himself up next to the bar. 

It's cherry wood and spans the entire length of one room. It's much much older than Phil wants to think about as he leans an elbow against it and waits his turn. There's only one other person there, because everyone else has already got a drink, or is distracted by talking to people. 

Once she has finished serving the other guy, the young woman with the blonde ponytail and crisp white shirt looks up at him with a smile. 

"What can I get you?" she asks. 

"Um..." and he realises he hasn't really thought about it. There had been a glass of wine with dinner which hadn't been too bad, perhaps he should stick with that even if he isn't much of a wine drinker. "Red wine?"

"Make that two," says a voice behind him, "and they're on me." 

Phil rolls his eyes, because he can't help himself. Even if that isn't a suitable reaction, even if it just comes from a place of embarrassment and hurt. 

"I can buy my own drinks, thanks," Phil says. 

"I bet you can." 

Dan is wearing a black suit again, yet another one that Phil hasn't seen before. This one has white embroidered roses on the lapels and he's paired it with a white shirt. There is a silver hoop glinting in his ear, so thin that Phil might not even know it was there if Dan wasn't leaning right up close to him. And if he didn't know to look.

"It's an open bar anyway," Phil says when he finds his voice, temporary a bit flustered by the curl of Dan's hair and the dusting of freckles under his left eye. 

"Well then you definitely can." 

Dan chuckles, a warm sound that isn't half as mocking as Phil's brain is trying to tell him it is. 

Phil has spent the last two months looking up at his wall of photos and feeling their last meeting swirl in his brain. Turning over into something more than that it was. 

In his darkest thoughts he makes Dan the villain, which he knows is wrong because Dan doesn't have any obligation to go on a date with him. But he can't help the wash of sadness, the disappointment, because he thinks they could be good. 

Even if he doesn't really know what he's basing that on outside of a few random meetings where they were mostly at work. 

Except of course his weird obsession, and the way his belly feels alight with raw pleasure when he takes Dan's photograph.

The bartender puts two glasses of red wine down on the warm cherry bar top. They are not standard measures, definitely larger than Phil would usually pour for himself, but he picks it up and takes a long swallow. Just for something to do. 

"I didn't know you'd planned this wedding," Phil says when Dan doesn't leave after picking up his own drink. 

"I didn't. God, they made me promise not to get involved and wouldn't take any advice at all. Lexi and I go way back, but I'm only here for the evening do. I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you didn't drink on duty?" 

Phil has a flash of a softly lit garden, Dan in the dark, a glass bottle on a red brick wall. Headlights and a hasty retreat. 

"Not on duty," Phil corrects. "They... er... they made me promise I wouldn't take any photos." 

Dan nods, his hair moving a bit as he does. "They do that." 

Phil takes another large sip of his drink. It isn't the best ever, and he's positive it isn't the wine they'd had at dinner, but he can't blame the venue for carting out the cheaper stuff for the open bar. 

He must make a face because Dan grins. "Yeah, see if I'd planned the thing the wine selection would be better. Alas..." 

Phil finds himself smiling, and a giggle working its way up his throat. 

"Professional jealousy doesn't suit you." 

"Jealous? Of this?" 

Dan looks over his shoulder. 

The room is opulent, a large open space in an old manor house. But even Phil can tell the space is a touch too big for the amount of guests. The old antiques and hardwood floors don't match the curtain of folded paper cranes on the wall behind the cake. Handmade and historical combining in a way that, while pretty, doesn't quite match. 

"They seem happy though," Phil points out, gesturing to them with his glass. 

Lexi and Amber are huddled close, foreheads touching as they smile and share a private joke. Phil frames the photograph in his mind before he remembers that's not what he's here for.

"They do," Dan nods, a short loud breath escaping him. "Like a damn photograph." 

Dan has moved next to him and they're both stood with their backs leant against the bar now. Phil's shoulder brushes up against Dan's and he resists the urge to shiver. 

"Yet their photographer is nowhere to be seen." 

"Now who's jealous?" 

Phil hooks a sideways glance over at Dan, a touch of a glare sparking in his eyes. 

"I like capturing things," Phil says, with a sigh. He doesn't know why he feels like explaining it, to Dan of all people, but he's started now. "It feels like… I don't know. When things get bad, you can look back and remember when things were good. Sometimes that can make it better. I don't know… that probably doesn't make any sense to someone like you." 

Dan doesn't answer straight away. His mouth becomes a line and he's silent for a good few moments before he replies. Phil feels awkward for directing the conversation this way. He should have stuck to small talk, sipped his drink and left at the most opportune moment. 

What is it about Dan that make a him want to turn himself inside out and expose his innermost thoughts?

"When things get bad?" 

"Hm," Phil says, "You know… in general." 

Dan is smiling which is just confusing on so many levels. He's a never ending puzzle, so cynical and sarcastic most of the time but with odd breaks of levity at moments that don't really make sense at first glance. Phil wishes he didn't find it so appealing.

"And here's me thinking you expected them to be that blissfully happy forever," Dan says, a drawling bored tone in his voice. 

Phil stands up, puts his glass back down on the bar with a faint click and turns to look at Dan. For some reason, that really rankles, like Dan is reducing him to some sort of pie-in-the-sky idiot who has no idea about life outside of his fantastical, romantic notions. 

"I believe they are in love," Phil says, his voice probably a touch too loud, "I believe - I hope - that most days will be okay. But I don't think everything is sunshine and roses all the time. Being in love doesn't fix everything, it isn't a cure-all for all the shit life can throw at you. Or for the days where you're pissed off at each other first and in love second. It's work, Dan. It's hard and sometimes painful but… yeah, I think taking a minute to remember that you're in love, that you had moments like the one they are having now. Well, I think that can help."

Dan blinks at him. His lips have parted a little and Phil can see the pink point of his tongue resting between his teeth. His cheeks have flushed, barely but they have, and Phil thinks maybe he'd reacted a little harshly. 

"Give me your phone," Dan says. 

"What?" 

"Just-- please?" 

Phil slips a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieves his phone. He hesitates, for a moment, keeping his fingers wrapped all the way around it and resting it against his chest.

"I'm not going to steal it or anything," Dan says, and then smiles again. "I think just outright asking you for it would constitute poor mugging technique." 

Phil can't help chuckling at that, and he passes Dan his phone. There fingers brush as it transfers between them and Phil is surprised to find that Dan's hands are soft. 

He doesn't really know what he expected, and it's not like he's dedicated any amount of thought to what Dan's hand might feel like. At least, not specifically. 

Dan flips the phone around in one hand, like it's a practised motion. He swipes upward from the lockscreen and the camera flashes into view. 

"Uh," Dan exclaims, "Sorry, already on front camera. Wasn't expecting to see myself from that angle without warning." 

Phil understands about angles. About how the low under-chin one Dan currently has the phone held at isn't, in a technical sense, the best one to photograph from. And yet, he can't help but think that he would love to photograph Dan from any angle at all. 

He really needs to get over this weird fascination. He has enough photos on his wall, and has had enough interactions with Dan now to know that it's half artistic curiosity and half… something else. Whatever it is, it needs to stop. 

Dan positions the phone in one hand in a way that Phil has never quite grasped and takes half a side-step towards Phil. 

"Come on," he says. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Selfie," Dan shrugs, like it's obvious.

Maybe it is for people that take selfies on a regular basis. Phil is usually on the other side of the camera, he can count the number of selfies he's ever taken of himself on one hand, and most of them were when he was using the camera as a makeshift mirror to check he didn't have food around his mouth

"Why?" 

"Because," Dan says, "you said people need photos to look back on when they're mad at each other. And well... I reckon I annoy you a fair amount so you'll probably need a fair few photos."

Phil doesn't comment on how he'd been talking about people in long term committed relationships, he doesn't comment on how he'd meant they needed pictures of them being happy and in love. He doesn't even comment on how what Dan had said pretty much indicates that he'll be around Dan enough for him to be annoying. In fact, he doesn't comment on anything, he just takes half a step sideways so that he's in the frame as Dan lifts the camera. 

"Um..." he says, trying to think of something to say. Because it feels like a moment when he should say something, but he's not sure what it would be.

"I know you promised no photos," Dan says, "but I think selfies don't count. Besides, _you're_ not taking it." 

Dan lifts his arm and Phil tilts his head up to look at the screen. His mind supplies hundreds of notes on how the composition is off, the room a bit too dark for a phone. How he'd do it differently if only he had his camera, how he could make the photo something more than what it will end up being. 

But he doesn't voice any of these. Instead, he watches Dan's face on the screen instead of his own, the tilt of his head, the dimple dipping in his cheek as he smiles. 

The screen flickers on and off a couple of times as Dan takes photos. Phil doesn't know what his face looks like in any of them. 

"You don't annoy me," Phil says, as Dan passes his phone back. 

"I don't?" 

"No." 

Phil feels a little bit dizzy. He isn't sure if its the wine or dim lighting or that all of this is a bit much but his head is swimming and he has to avert his eyes away from Dan. The back of his neck feels hot,and his shoulders feel tense. 

"You..." he sighs. He has no idea what he's doing or why he's doing it. "You fascinate me." 

"Oh." 

Phil keeps his eyes trained on his own shoes. Dan's shoes are only a few inches away. They're black velvet, of all things, laced up all neatly under the cropped length of his trousers and there is a sliver of slender angle on show, the knobby bones of it jutting out. 

"From an artistic perspective," Phil says, barrelling in to the conversation despite feeling like it's the most stupid thing he's ever done. Because he needs to make it stop, he has to put an end to this strange and unwelcome pull towards Dan, and maybe admitting it is the only way to do that. "I want-- I think you'd look lovely in a photograph." 

"Lovely?" Dan asks, and his voice has dropped in volume, it's almost a whisper in Phil's ear, spoken in to the space between them. 

"Just... I don't know," Phil lifts his head and Dan is looking at him with an odd expression he can't place. Like Phil is a puzzle he's trying to work out. "I want to photograph you." 

Dan falls silent again. This whole conversation is littered with stops and starts, silence in between bouts of awkward sentences. Phil can't stand it. 

"It's... sorry, that was a weird thing to say." 

"No it..." Dan sighs and put a hand in his pocket, affecting like he's casual. But he bites his bottom lip too hard before continuing, so it gives him away. "I just don't think I'm really worth. You know, photographing." 

Phil wants to disagree, but he's beginning to think he shouldn't have started this. Even if it does make him feel a little lighter to have said it out loud. 

"That's okay," he says, with a forced smile. "I won't if you don't want me to." 

He won't, he resolves. No more photos, no matter how many times he sees Dan at weddings or wherever else their paths might cross. 

"Sorry," Dan says. 

"Have a drink with me." 

He's gone mad. He must have. Or perhaps he just had too much wine with dinner, but something makes him ask again, even though he knows the answer. 

"We are having a drink." 

"I mean coffee. Have a coffee with me, Dan."

"Phil..." 

"I know," Phil says, "We work together. Except not really. You have your business, I have mine. We don't work somewhere that prevents employees from getting coffee." 

"I just don't... It's not that." 

"Then, what?" Phil asks.

"Because..." 

Phil shakes his head, "Because what? What reason is there? It's just coffee." 

Dan puts his other hand in the other pocket now, but he doesn't look casual, doesn't even look like he's trying to be. 

"Because you want to photograph me," he says. 

"What does that--" 

"That's all it is," Dan says. "You're fascinated, you said it yourself. Once that wears off I'm not really worth... you know... photographing. Or coffee." 

"Dan..." 

"No. Please, Phil. I like you, you're funny and I enjoy working with you. Let's not make it any more complicated than that. Let's not disappoint ourselves, okay?" 

"You kissed me," Phil says, pathetically. Feeling small, desperate. But what is the point of putting himself through all of this if he doesn't get it all out? 

It's that, he realises, that he's really mad about. That's when all of the frustration had started. It was harmless, he thinks, before that.

"I did," Dan says, "It wasn't fair, I'm sorry... I'm not a good person."

"You are--" 

"No," Dan says, "I'm not. Not like you. I'm really... I'm not." 

"And I want to photograph you anyway," Phil says, sadly. 

"You called me beautiful," Dan says. "That night. In the garden." 

"I did. I meant it." 

Dan closes his eyes, those brown irises obscured for a second by fluttering lashes. 

"And that's the problem." Dan says.

Phil picks his drink back up and takes another sip. There isn't a huge amount left now, and it was probably a bit too much to begin with on top of what he had at dinner. So much for distracting himself from how awful it felt to be here alone, he feels worse now. Stood with Dan, he feels more alone than ever. 

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say," Phil confesses. 

"Just have a drink with me." 

Phil levels him with a look that he hopes communicates how much that hurts. 

"Dan…" 

"Please Phil. Don't. I'm sorry I just… I can't."

Phil takes another sip of his wine and leans back against the bar.

"Okay," he says, "just one drink." 

There isn't much wine left in his glass, but Phil savours it right to the very end. They don't really say much else, just enjoy the company while sipping their wine and staring out at the crowded wedding. Neither of them working, neither of them with anyone, both of them a little hurt. 

Despite it all, it isn't an uneasy silence. Phil thinks that might be worse actually, that it's so easy with Dan. 

When he gets home, after a warm goodbye and a silent agreement to forget all of this ever happened, Phil sends the selfie they took from his phone to his computer. On Monday morning, he prints it out and sticks it on the wall with the others. 

He knows he shouldn't, but the sight of his own face in the image was enough to make him throw caution to the wind. He looks starstruck, enraptured. He's looking towards the lens, if not into it, but he clearly isn't focussed. He's looking at Dan, like Dan is the only thing that matters in all of existence. 

This photo isn't art. It's framed badly, low quality despite the strides forward in camera phones these days, and he hadn't even taken it. So it doesn't make any sense at all for him to hang it up with the others, or for him to feel the way he does about it. 

It isn't the creative inspiration, or aesthetic appreciation. It's Dan. Dan and his dimples and his curly hair, his slick stylish outfits and delicate hooped earrings. It's him being cynical, sarcastic, jaded by his job and life and maybe a little bit sad. 

It's Dan he feels this way about, not the photos, and Phil doesn't know what to do about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://agingphangirl.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter Seven

Phil had thought about not coming in to work at all today. He's not sick, he's not particularly anything at all except restless. He can't face another day of answering emails, editing pictures of other people's smiling faces, and staring at the blank white walls of his studio hour upon hour. So when he'd opened his eyes this morning he had honestly thought about not coming in at all, just having a day off. It isn't like he's got a boss he needs to ring and put on a fake sick voice for. It's just him, him and his own willpower and his blank studio walls. 

Except the one next to his desk. That isn't blank, and he can't bear to look at that either.

A cup of coffee and hot shower had gone some ways to putting himself right. He always feels a little better when the night's sleep is washed from his skin and he's got a bit of caffeine zipping around his veins, but he still isn't completely with it by the time he gets to work. 

He doesn't turn the lights on at first. The mornings aren't as dark as they were because they're heading into spring ever so slowly, but it's still a little dim, a little easier on his tired eyes. 

He has another cup of coffee stood up at the sink, not even bothering to sit down in his desk chair because that is where the work is. 

The thing is, it isn't even about the wall of pictures next to his desk. It isn't about the conversation they had last time Phil saw Dan, this isn't about Dan at all. It's about the loss of the one thread of creativity he'd thought he had. 

Sure, his obsession with Dan wasn't healthy, possibly, and he was maybe the creepiest person alive for still keeping pictures of him up on the wall long after Dan had rejected him, but he'd thought it had been about artistic inspiration. He'd thought that he'd broken out of the mundane cycle of capturing weddings and events, had started to feel some of that excitement about photography again. 

Only for it to turn out to be what equated to a schoolyard crush. 

He'd felt pathetic, ashamed and rejected and yes the sound of Dan saying 'I like you' had echoed around in his brain for a bit but at the end of it, once all of that had worn off, he just feels empty again. Bored and unfulfilled and wanting something else without any idea of how to get it. 

By the time he does find his way to sitting down at the computer there is sunlight coming in through the window, the slanted blinds throwing lines of colour over his floor. The desk is a little dusty underneath his monitor and he's got a pile of letters, some thank you cards and bills, piled up next to the keyboard, but he can start his day. 

Emails are easy, booking confirmations and sending out the wedding set he'd done last month. He answers a couple of enquiries from his website and then checks his calendar to see what he has to do today. He's blocked out most of the day for admin, he doesn't have much editing to do and he'd usually have studio client booked in for the afternoon but he doesn't happen to have any on the schedule. 

After lunch, a packaged sandwich and another coffee from the small safe down the road where the ladies know his name and he finds it easy to smile at them despite his mood, he finds himself at a bit of a loose end. 

Which is why he probably feels a little bit of a relief when there is the sound of his door buzzer. 

The studio is in a kind of converted warehouse-come-storage space and sits at the back of the building. It's red brick and large windows but the entrance is sometimes a little tricky to get to. You have to come in through the side door which isn't very well signposted from the road and he almost always has to give clients specific instructions on how to reach it. 

There also isn't an intercom, so Phil has no idea who it could be and he has to leave the studio, make his way down the corridor to the front door, and let whoever is ringing his buzzer into the building. It could be the postman, although it's a little late, and there is always the chance that it's someone trying to reach someone in another workspace that just hasn't answered so has tried a different number. 

It could be anyone at all, but he still isn't expecting it to be Dan. 

"What are you doing here?" he says, rather than hello like a normal person. 

"Um.." 

"Sorry," Phil says, rubbing the back of a knuckle over the spot above his eyebrow that's starting to throb with a tension headache. "I mean, hello Dan, it's nice to see you, won't you come in?" 

Dan smiles and does indeed step in through the door. 

He's dressed casually. Phil hasn't ever seen him out of a suit, or at least not in some form of formal clothing, but today he has on a soft black jumper that falls in a soft fold at his waist. It looks soft and worn, like it's something he wears often. He has a black leather jacket with numerous zips over top, and black jeans. There are also white, neat, laced up trainers that make his feet look dainty even though Phil knows they aren't. He's disappointed there isn't a sliver of ankle on show this time, but the jumper's neckline is a little wide and he can see the sharp rise of his collarbone as he shifts, the shadow in the hollow of his throat. His hair doesn't have product in so that it's fluffed up, but it looks newly shorn around his ears like he's had a haircut recently. There isn't an earring in his ear. 

Phil notices all of these details in the first few seconds as he holds out a hand to indicate Dan should follow him back down the corridor to the studio. It's a bit surreal, having him here, and Phil thinks perhaps cataloguing all of these aesthetic things is a way for him to cope. To occupy his brain a little bit so that he doesn't launch into a tirade of questions about what the hell is he doing here, or worse yet tell him how good it is to see him, that he's the best thing that's happened all day. 

"So… er…" Phil says once they're in the studio. 

Dan is looking around, not shy about how obvious he is to be doing so. He looks over at the light set up and the plain backdrop, the running cables from all of Phil's equipment that he never breaks down because he doesn't need to. He looks at the shelving with Phil's cameras on it, and the framed old vintage photographs on the wall just next to them. 

"Coffee?" Phil says, and then immediately regrets it. "I mean… I can make you coffee." 

"Sure," Dan says with a hint of a smile. "Just black." 

"Sugar?" 

"No."

He still hasn't offered any explanation for why he's here, and Phil wants to press him a little bit but he also wants to be a good host so he leaves Dan standing in the studio and goes to make coffee. 

He worries his lip while the kettle boils and throws it all together as quick as he can. 

"Sorry," he says returning with two mugs and trying not to spill either one of them as he makes his way back to where he thinks Dan will be. "It's only instant so I'm sorry if it tastes--" 

Dan isn't where he thought he'd be.

"Oh," Phil says, because he can't find any other words that suit the situation. 

"Bit creepy," Dan notes. 

"I can… well, yeah. It is. A bit." 

Dan takes the coffee from him as Phil reaches where is is next to Phil's desk. He has his head tipped up to look at the wall, his long neck extended above the line of his jumper. He's taken his jacket off and it's folded over the back of Phil's desk chair, neat and contained, but still looking like it was abandoned there. 

"I didn't know you took them," Dan says after a sip of boiling hot coffee. 

It isn't what Phil expects him to say. He's not sure what he would have expected him to say if he ever saw the wall of photographs Phil has of him, like some kind of shrine just to the right of his desk.

"They were just… you know. I take photos of everything." 

Dan gives a small little hum but doesn't look away from the photos. He seems fixated on them, a little bit, and there is the hint of a frown in his brown but the crook of the tiniest smile on his plush mouth and Phil doesn't really know what happens next. 

"That's why I'm here, actually."

"Pardon?"

Isn't Dan going to call him on this? Why isn't he angry about the invasion, weirded out by Phil's weird wall of creepshots. Why isn't he heading for the door?

"I, um…" Dan says, turning to face him finally. "That's why I'm here." 

"To… oh. For a wedding? You want to book me?" 

Dan shakes his head. He clears his throat, the sound so small and soft Phil only barely hears it. He's stepped up too close, perhaps in an attempt to shield Dan from the wall of images he'd already seen. Phil's hands are tight around the hot mug in his hands and the skin on his palms is burning a little but he can't let go, he feels tense and awkward to have been caught out like this. 

"You said you wanted to photograph me," Dan says. 

Dan's lips move slow. His words come out on an uneasy breath, as if he is unsure whether Phil had said it at all. 

"I did," Phil assures him. 

Dan's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, shoulders rising and falling as he breathes. He looks hesitant and unsure but there is a moment when he steels himself, the set of his jaw becoming a little firmer. 

"Then, you should," he says. "I mean… if you still want to. That's why I… oh god. This was probably a stupid idea. I'm sorry." 

"No, no," Phil says, reaching out before he thinks about it and placing a hand on the bend of Dan's elbow to prevent him from leaving. "I… I want to. It isn't stupid I just didn't expect…" 

Dan looks down to where Phil's fingers are curved around the soft weave of his jumper. It's nice against his skin and it slides easily as Phil removes his hand, almost sad to let go of the warmth of him. 

"Um, did you want…" 

"I don't want anything," Dan says. "I don't mean like… I don't want a headshot or something. I just thought, if you wanted to I could sort of…" 

"Model?" Phil says.

"Don't take the piss," Dan says, the tension lifting a little with the way his mouth quirks up at one side. 

"I wouldn't dare," Phil counters, his own smile coming a little easier. 

"You're the one that said you wanted to," Dan points out. 

"Yeah." 

"So, you know, if any of us is the weird one around here it's you." 

Phil nods, because that's probably a fair assessment. He puts his coffee down on his desk where it's sure to leave yet another ring on the wood and walks back over to where the plain white backdrop is. 

"Come on," he says.

"Now?"

"If you have time. I don't… I mean, if you'd rather not--"

"No it's… now is good."

Dan lingers for a moment, turning his head as if to give one last glance at the photos on the wall before he walks over to where Phil is turning on a soft-box light. The space instantly becomes brighter, a white glow spreads over the smoothness of Dan's skin and Phil swallows. 

"In there?" Dan asks, looking at the large area of blank white as if it's a daunting prospect. 

"Yeah," Phil says, "hang on." 

He fetches a stool and sets it right in the center. It's plain black, which is good, it'll go with Dan's general look. It could be good, he thinks. Just Dan in a sea of white, with him the only focus. He'll be able to see all of the angles he could ever want, every detail a stark contrast to the nothing of their surroundings. It will be as if Dan is the only thing that exists. 

Dan looks a little lost as he sits down. His limbs go stiff and awkward as if he doesn't know what to do with them. 

"Relax," Phil says, moving to the shelving to fetch his camera. 

"Could you, like, talk to me a bit?" Dan asks. "That might help." 

"Sure," Phil says, hefting the camera in his hands and twisting the rod on the blinds as he walks past, throwing the room into darkness other than where Dan is lit up by the lights. "Tell me about work." 

It's a normal distraction technique, one he's used a hundred times before, but he actually finds himself wanting to listen to the answer, which isn't normal at all. 

"Work is the same as it always is," Dan says.

"Okay," Phil says, smiling. He gets another chair and sets it opposite Dan, behind the lights. He isn't going to rush this, just because he can take a photo doesn't mean he has to. 

He's feeling a little crazy with it anyway. His headache is still a lingering push behind one eye and he's probably had a touch too much coffee at this point. He's wanting nothing more for months than to have Dan right here, under his lights and framed in his lens with nothing to distract from it, but he doesn't want to squander it. He can't waste the opportunity now it's presented. 

He's also viscerally aware of how he feels about Dan. The photos and the art and the inspiration had all been a heady rush of something unknown. But he's gotten used to the lack of it. He'd mourned the loss of it, of course, because it meant he had to face up to the fact that he didn't like his job. That it wasn't enough for him just to do what he's doing. He wants something more. 

He'd wanted something more with Dan too. And that is something he's been trying to get over because Dan had said he didn't want it, Dan had every right not to want it. But here he is, under the lights of his studio and Phil has the camera in his hand and Dan all to himself. 

Dan is here, for whatever reason it is that has made him come and offer what he's offering, but Phil still doesn't really know what to do with it. And it hurts, a little, a kind of aching burn in his chest, because he could take photos of Dan right now, and he will, but it still won't be everything. 

It doesn't change his life, it doesn't make up for the thing that he's lacking. It doesn't change the way he feels about Dan either. 

"I know how you got in to your job," Phil says. "But… do you like it?" 

"What do you mean?" 

Dan eyes the camera in Phil's hand as if it's an explosive liable to go off at any moment. 

"We don't have go do this if you don't want to," Phil says. "It was your idea."

"No it's… something you want," Dan says, "I want to give you what you want."

Phil drums his fingers on his camera and regards Dan. He doesn't know how to tell him what he wants. This was it, wasn't it? Dan available to photograph, to give direction to. 

He still doesn't raise his camera.

"I don't mind my job," Dan says, saving him from having to come up with a response. "It isn't what I thought I'd be doing but… it's kind of nice. I like details, getting focused on every little thing as if each is just as important as the last. I'm not sure I'd be able to do that with like, the music stuff."

"Yeah, people are quite detail orientated about their weddings."

"You can say that again," Dan says. "I might not really get it, like the whole romance bit, but I enjoy organising it anyway."

Phil nods. He wants to ask Dan why he doesn't get the 'whole romance bit'. Has he always been this way? If not, what is it that changed?

Instead, Dan says, "What about you?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like your job?"

"Oh."

Phil looks down at his camera. He's got one hand curled around the grip, his finger resting over the shutter button. It feels comfortable, natural, like his hand falls into that position without needing to think about it. 

"I like taking photos," Phil says. 

"But not of weddings?"

"Not like… it isn't what I thought I'd be doing."

"What did you think you'd be doing?" 

Phil looks up at Dan and shrugs because however he puts it, it sounds fanciful. 

"I told you," Phil says, because they've had this conversation before. 

"Hm," Dan says, not looking away. Phil thinks he probably expects an answer anyway.

"I wanted… well, I mean, I guess I wanted to take photos because I enjoyed it. For art or… something. I wanted to photograph things I liked simply because they were beautiful."

"Like me," Dan says. 

Phil swallows. He could back down, let Dan's intense stare scare him off and let all of the tension he can feel between them fizzle. He could lift his camera and take the picture but somehow that isn't enough anymore. Maybe it never was. 

"Yeah," he says, quiet and reverent. "Like you."

He watches Dan's cheeks get a little pink and he so desperately wants to take a photo, but it doesn't feel right. He doesn't know why. 

"That's not all it is," Phil says.

"What?"

"It's not just because…" Phil shifts on his seat, rearranging his ankles, tucking them up against each other. "It's not only because you're beautiful." 

Dan's lips part, he gasps softly and looks up at Phil through thick lashes. His eyes are soft, even in the harsh lights aimed at him. Phil has the strongest urge to get off his seat and go over to him, but he doesn't know what he'd do if he did. 

"Then… why?"

Phil meets his eyes, knuckles white around his camera, hanging on to it only for something to ground him. The idea of using it is all but gone, it feels wrong, to look at him through a lens when he has the real thing here. 

It isn't about the pictures. It isn't about the art or the creative endeavours. It's about the way his stomach feels looking at Dan, it's about wanting to keep him close even when he's not, it's about when Phil feels when he looks at him. Something new and wonderful and the promise of things being different. 

If Phil can only be brave. 

"Surely you know," Phil says, unable to find words for it. 

It's Dan that gets up, moves over towards him, out of the bright lights and in to Phil's space. He puts a hand overtop of the camera Phil holds in his lap. 

"I don't believe in happily ever afters, Phil." 

"Me either," Phil shrugs. He can feel the warmth of Dan's body he's so close, his fingers are hot and calloused on top of Phil's, the camera cradled between them. "I'm not asking for one." 

"Then what do you want?" Dan says.

"Have a coffee with me," Phil says, and it's the third time he's asking. He knows it will be the last time. 

"I did," Dan says, nodding his head over to the mug of cooling coffee now leaving a ring on Phil's desk. "What comes after that?" 

Phil lets a slow smile slide on to his face and turns in his seat to put the camera down on the rolling unit next to him. He winds his hand into the front of Dan's jumper, the soft fabric curling around his fingers. He pulls, softly, and Dan's ducks his head. 

He knows what's going to happen before it does, but he still feels his heart skip in surprise when their lips meet. 

Dan kisses like he does everything else, taking control, sliding a hand around to the base of Phil's skull and weaving into the hair there. Phil kisses him until he can't breathe, until his heart is beating so wildly he's sure Dan will be able to hear it, under his hand is cramped where he's gripping on to Dan so tightly, scared he's going to let go even as it's happening. 

It is a burst of something new. Fireworks and sparkles yes, but also fear and trepidation, a jumping off point, a high board from which to dive into unknown waters. Phli is poised, he's ready. 

"I don't know about forever, or happy endings," Phil says, "I only know what things looks like when they're still and pinned to a wall."

"But you believe in it," Dan says. 

Phil shakes his head, "not like you think I do." 

Dan still has his hand around the back of Phil's neck , his fingers play with the short strands of hair and Phil shivers at the light pressure. 

"I can't promise to be picture perfect the whole time," Dan says. 

"Dan…" 

Phil unfurls his fingers, his palm coming to rest on the flat of Dan's stomach. He wraps his arms around Dan's waist pulling him closer, tipping his head up to nudge at his mouth. 

"I want more that the photograph," he says. "I want the work, the good at the bad. I want how you make me feel when I look at you. It isn't the photographs. I could live without ever taking another one as long as I could look at you, be near you."

"Sometimes I'm a lot of work," he says. 

"I am too!" Phil sighs, because Dan isn't getting it. He isn't sure he really got it until now, until he had Dan in his lens but didn't want to close the shutter. "I hate my job. I hate the mundane fabrication of a happy ending. I want the real life, the arguing and the work that goes with something real. I want you, Dan. I want to see ever one of your one thousand suits and to find out what I need to do to see your dimple whenever I want. I want the flash of your ankle and to be proud of the way you're trying to be a good coach to Dodie even though you aren't very good. I want you controlling and cynical and sarcastic and just as jaded as you are. I don't want you in a photograph any more, Dan. I don't want you pinned up on my wall pretending you're a stand-in for the creative streak I've lost. You inspire me, you do, but I want more than just that."

It all tumbles out of him. He isn't sure he intends to say most of what he does but it comes out anyway.

Dan smiles. The dimple in his cheek dips in for a second before he comes too close for it to be in focus. He kisses Phil again, deep and lingering, the barest hint of a tongue swiping over his bottom lip before pulling away. 

"I want more than the photograph too," he says. 

Phil reaches over and turns out the light, sending the backdrop into darkness. Dan isn't lit with professional lighting, he isn't in a fancy suit or posed any particular way. He's up so close that he's a little blurred, nothing like the perfect shot would be. 

He's still beautiful, but it's so much more than that.

"Then no more photographs," he says, and pulls him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://agingphangirl.tumblr.com) and tell me what you thought!
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here to read an epilogue for this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17169923)

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://jestbee.tumblr.com)


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